


Bad Joke

by terminator



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1605386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terminator/pseuds/terminator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel's life hasn't felt like her own in a long time. She was once a woman who fought for what she believed in, stood by justice and harmony, all while without wearing anything resembling a mask. She never hid behind one and never desired to, and this is the Rachel Dawes she knew and admired. </p>
<p>She's so far away now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Joke

**Author's Note:**

> Writing Joker/Rachel is perhaps one of the harder ships to go about. This ship is, admittedly, near-impossible without having Rachel lean on the OOC side. 
> 
> Though her part was small and Nolan seems to struggle with writing female characters, I really admire her. Katie Holmes' and Maggie Gyllenhaal's Rachels were both so different, but one thing that remained was the character's passion and drive for justice. I think it's really difficult to try to alter that in some way for the sake of this ship, but perhaps one day I'll come up with something creative! For now, I'll leave you with this one-shot. 
> 
> This ship is the gateway drug for other ships and fandom as a whole for me, so it's very special, even if it doesn't make much sense at times. I will continue to write for Joker/Rachel for as long as I write fic! There is some history mentioned in this piece that I may explore later on, but that's still undecided.
> 
> Either way, hope you enjoy.

Gotham's skies are clouded with pollution, and its stars are seldom seen amidst its city lights.  
  
Rachel doesn't look up at the sky anymore.  
  
Cool air brushes past her skin, prompting her to fold over the thick fabric of her opened sweater. She leans in to her crossed arms propped on the balcony's railing. Strands of hair fall to her face, swinging with the gentle breeze, and she allows it.  She peers down at the streets, the cars passing by swiftly, routinely. Sounds of vehicles and ambulances and leaves ruffling through themselves crowd the air, but all she hears is a hard laugh, and all she sees is a colourful face that doesn't even belong to anyone.  
  
She doesn't look up at the sky anymore. She hasn't quite figured out how to face it after what she's done.  
  
Rachel's life hasn't felt like her own in a long time. She was once a woman who fought for what she believed in, stood by justice and harmony, all while without wearing anything resembling a mask. She never hid behind one and never desired to, and this is the Rachel Dawes she knew and admired. She's so far away now.  
  
"Baby?"  
  
Rachel turns to see a good man with a kind face. He stands between the opening, wearing a look of concern. She smiles, and it feels good to be genuine, "I'll be in soon."  
  
He smiles back, leaning in and kissing her cheek before going back inside. He slides the window closed and disappears into the darkness. The feeling of his kiss begins to fade, and her smile along with it. She feels her eyes slowly inviting the weight of her demons in the form of tears. She knows she is no longer strong enough to fight them and so they fall, one after another past her cheeks until she finds her knees touching the cold pavement.   
  
This is a phenomenon that occurs often enough for a select few to know about it. It's the most honest she can feel, even knowing it's explained through tales others actually believe to be true. Friends and coworkers understand it as a traumatized soul showing itself to the world. How can she not cry after being a target for chaos, experiencing untellable months with the Joker, yet somehow live to see another day? Rachel may very well be a traumatized soul, but it's nothing she hasn't done to herself.  
  
Her sobbing eases, and she turns to face the metal bars that keep her from falling. Her hands, protected with the layers of her sleeves, grip the cold metal, and it calms her down. She closes her eyes and focuses on the sounds of the wind. The way it dances with nature warms and aches her nostalgic heart. The sounds take her back to a basement room with a small and busted bed, cement floors, and a tiny window that would get scratched with sticks of an uneven bush that sat in front of it. She would lay on that bed in the darkness, and everything in that room would stay the same until a crooked man entered, placing his cold hands on her stomach, and always finding her angry reactions to be _hilarious_.   
  
She smiles at that memory. _It was a little funny_ , she thought, _maybe_ , and smiled a little more at how he would always kiss her to interrupt her "boring rants" about how it was not funny.  
  
Rachel takes in a deep breath, only to slowly let out a shaky sigh. Why is this the memory she recalls of those fickle months spent with an unpredictable man? Guilt floods through her, every single day, and she can't think up all the reasons why. She loosens her grip on the bars and drops her hands to her lap. She realizes there is something about her that she doesn't understand.  
  
One day, she wakes up and she's in the comfort of her own bed, in the warmth of her home. Her mind was fuzzy and her body was weak, still not fully recovered from the obvious sedation. Nothing lead up to that moment. It's something she thought she wanted the full four months she was with the Joker, and it was, but it all happened without any closure. She needs closure, and it's something she's been in denial over for a long time.  
  
She sighs again. This time, a short, tired one. She knows she will never find closure with the Joker. The thought of it alone seems far fetched, yet there's a desire for it that burns her chest.  She smirks at that sensation. Her chin lifts, and she picks herself up. The wind playfully twirls her hair and is noticeably stronger up here, when she's on her feet.  
  
After a brief moment, Rachel finally finds the courage to gaze up at the sky. Until this very moment, she forgot how to; forgot how to look up and look ahead; forgot what it's like to live without ghosts.  
  
Forgot what it means to want and need justice so badly it aches.


End file.
